


There's a Hole in My Chest

by Lywinis



Series: One Shots -- Capsicoul [13]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson always knew.</p>
<p>Steve Rogers never dreamed.</p>
<p>But the medallion never lies. Your soul mate makes it warm to the touch. You can feel it, from the inside out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a Hole in My Chest

Phil Coulson was fourteen years old when he fell in love with Captain America. He'd been his boyhood idol, sure, but the look his parents gave him when he told them he was his soul mate said it all – they didn't believe him.

“But I'm telling the truth!” he said, tears of frustration standing in his eyes. He held his medallion clenched in his hands and stood, defiant, against his mother's gentle admonishment. “I know what I feel when I look at him. He makes it warm, mom.”

His mother ruffled his hair and sat him down. She explained that Captain America, that Steve Rogers, had been lost when the war ended. His plane, a German model Valkyrie, had sunk beneath the waves of the ocean, and he'd never been recovered. He was listed as missing in action. He'd been considered dead since 1945. Even if he were alive, the chances that Phil was his soul mate were slim to none, his mother explained. She hugged him and told him that somewhere out there, his soul mate was waiting. He just had to be patient, and whoever it was, male or female, would find him.

“I know who it is, mom,” Phil said, gripping the medallion so hard it dug into the palms of his hands. “I know what it feels like.”

“Oh, Phil,” she said, and brushed his messy hair away from his eyes. “I really hope that you outgrow this.”

Phil bowed his head over his necklace and said nothing.

* * *

When a baby is born, they are gifted with a medallion. Not quite magic, not since Stark Industries proved and perfected the science behind them, the medallions are designed to heat to the touch when that person's soul mate was close. While many wore their medallions under their clothes religiously, the end of the eighties birthed the nineties and a much more jaded generation. Medallions became an archaic thing, although the camp was divided neatly down the middle as to how well said medallions worked.

Stories abounded about people who felt their medallions warm, until they heard the screech of tires and the tinkling of glass. Their medallions would go dark and lifeless, and they _knew._ Still more stories and evidence were there about Bonded couples. Phil had heard the stories, seen his parents, a Bonded couple. He saw how happy they were; he knew Bonded couples could almost feel what the other was. There was a near-empathic and psychic link between them. He saw how much they loved each other, how they looked at one another. The kids at school had whispered about how good the sex was supposed to be, feeling like an extension of your body and being able to feel the other in your very bloodstream.

Phil also saw how his mother had withered when his father had been shot in the botched robbery of his store. His father, shot in the chest after thugs attempted to hold up the motorcycle repair shop he owned, held on for three days until his mother looked at the doctors and instructed them to pull the plug. Phil had been deployed to Jump School at the time. Two days later, he got a call – his mother had passed too, withered away from a broken heart. She'd followed his father.

Phil was alone.

* * *

Phil never took off his medallion. As he got older, however, he got wiser. He knew that the conviction of youth was a strong one, but there was no point in pining for a man who would never return. He quietly shelved the idea in a corner of his mind, and as he neared the end of his thirties, he almost forgot about it. As he neared his forties, the idea had grown a thick layer of dust and Phil was resigned to never finding his soul mate. It was all right to never Bond, he'd been told. It was just...preferable to him.

His relationships never lasted too long, and always seemed to fall apart. There was something...missing. He'd never been able to pinpoint it, but the medallion that rested against the bare skin of his chest, warmed to his body heat, reminded him. He wasn't whole.

Still, his work kept him busy, and he was useful. He was not at a total loss, and it was a good thing.

Then, one morning, he got a call.

“Agent Coulson,” he said, putting the phone to his ear.

“Sir, we've found it.”

Phil's heart sped to triple time. “Give me the coordinates. I'm flying out within the hour. And for god's sake, don't touch it.”

“Yes, sir,” Sitwell said, and the line went dead. Phil, armed with only his parka and his carryon, was on his way to the Arctic in a blink.

* * *

The Valkyrie rose from the cut and chopped ice like a twisted, broken bird. The wings had sheared off, and Phil could see holes in her hull where she’d taken impact damage. He put a hand over his chest. His medallion was warmer than ever. He ignored it, however, in favor of inspecting the craft that had sunk below the waves with Steve Rogers aboard.

“No one’s been inside yet,” Sitwell said, his voice muffled by his woolen face mask. It was cold, making Phil’s bones creak and his knees ache, but the curious warmth of his medallion made him push on. “Base camp says that barring a storm, we’ll have the craft unearthed within a couple days. We cleared the door in preparation for your arrival, however.”

Phil nodded, his eyes shielded from the glare of the ice by a pair of thick black goggles.

“The contents?”

“Initial scans show that a lot of the interior may be ruined due to water damage,” Sitwell said, looking at the Valkyrie. By the tone of his voice, Phil knew his friend’s face was crooked into a frown. “We’re not going to find much here, Phil.”

Phil clapped Jasper on the back.

“Never say never, Jasper, that’s how you end up on babysitting duties for visiting dignitaries.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Come on,” Phil said. “If the ice is stable, we’d better get in there. No sense in keeping it a mystery forever.”

“You sound like you’re going to find Captain America himself,” Jasper said.

“Nah, I’m not an optimist,” Phil said. “I’d be happy if we pulled up enough of the dash to restore the thing and learn what Red Skull was building.”

* * *

Phil clicked on the powerful penlight when the door of the Valkyrie fell off its hinges. The acetylene team stepped back, and Phil, snugged into his warm parka and gloves, stepped into the interior. Inside, it was colder than even outside, perhaps because of the chilled metal around him. He ignored it, warmed by the stone against the skin of his chest.

He passed the pen light over the warped, ruined metal, the seawater pitting it in places, but not in others. His light passed over a faded HYDRA decal, and his lip curled behind his woolen mask.

Jasper and Quartermain were behind him, taking readings and noting the locations of things for the dig site later. Phil moved deeper into the craft, his light giving a cursory sweep of the objects around him, looking for the cockpit.

His radio crackled with the sounds of the excavation team, but Phil, in essence, was alone with his thoughts. He could feel the pitched battle that had taken place here, carved into the walls with stress gouges and blast marks that even the cold ocean couldn’t wash away.

“Incredible,” he said, running a gloved hand across the rime encrusted metal, moving up a few steps toward the bridge. “It’s almost perfectly preserved in here.”

“Don’t jizz too hard over it, Coulson, we’ve still got to bring it in for testing.” Phil scowled, but ignored it. He jimmied open the door and the bridge creaked open with the sound of hinges flaked with rust. He shoved his shoulder into the door and moved it open, shifting with his back into it. He got it open enough so that he could slip inside, and then he swept the penlight over the ruined console.

Steve Rogers had sat there.

Phil couldn’t contain his excitement. He moved around the ledge at the back of the bridge, his boots crunching on slowly melting ice. He could feel his heartbeat speeding up, and he looked around, still alone in the chilled room.

His boot clanged against something, and he skidded, losing his footing. He landed on his knees, and his penlight skittered from his hand, sending a thin, sharp beam of light bouncing along the metal walls. It came to a stop, and the lens cracked, the unfocused beam scattering through the strange, clear crystals.

He looked down at the lump of metal under his hands.

Phil’s breath caught.

It wasn’t a lump of metal. His hands swept over the smooth, dome shape of a round shield. Concentric rings of red and white culminated in a blue circle with a white star. Phil stared, not quite comprehending what he was seeing.

“Coulson, what’s your status?” Jasper asked. Phil realized he’d made a squeaking noise over the comm as he’d seen the shield. He cleared his throat.

“Five by five,” he muttered. “I just slipped. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Jasper pressed.

“Fine,” he said, struggling to his feet. “I’m just—“

His voice cut short as his pen light illuminated what lay beyond the shield. A man, his eyes closed, frozen in a block of slowly melting ice. Phil didn’t even need to see the star on his chest to know who it was. His medallion was like a small sun, insistent in its radiant heat as he reached up and pressed a shaking hand to the front of the ice block.

“Scratch that,” he said, sounding strangled to his own ears. “I’m going to need a medical team in here, stat.”

Jasper and Quartermain wrenched the door open the rest of the way, and both of them caught their breath when they saw the block of ice illuminated by Phil’s light.

“Jesus Christ,” Quartermain said. “Look at that…”

“I’ll get the salvage team,” Jasper said.

“No, we need medical,” Phil said. He turned to Jasper. “Get them in here, now.”

Jasper blinked at him. Clay turned his scanner on the ice block.

“Holy shit,” Quartermain said. “He’s alive.”

“What?” Jasper asked. “I’m not kidding, the crush is cute but—“

Quartermain showed him the readings.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. He turned to his comm and started issuing orders. “Medical team to the bridge of the Valkyrie. We have a live one. I repeat, we’ve found Captain America, and he is alive.”

As soon as the words left Jasper’s lips, it hit home. Phil’s childhood rushed back, swept him away in a tide of memories. His medallion was warm, almost scalding against his chest, but he stepped forward, his hand pressed against the ice block. He was shaking, but his vision tunneled, pitched and yawed in the presence of the square jaw and strong shoulders.

Phil’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the last thing he knew, he was falling to the cold floor at the feet of his hero.

* * *

Steve was resting; although Phil couldn’t answer the question if he was comfortable, he reached out and smoothed the blond hair that rested limp against his forehead. He sat in a chair at the edge of the bed, leaning on his elbows as his fingers brushed against Steve’s. He looked for a twitch, a sign, something that would show him that Steve could hear him.

Nothing. No change since they’d found and defrosted him. Medical had confirmed that his body was regenerating from the inside out; there was no indication that the good Captain had been anywhere like the block of ice he’d been found. He was whole and healthy, just unconscious.

For two weeks.

Maria let herself in, and Phil turned his head in acknowledgement, his fingers giving Steve’s one last brush before he dropped them into his lap. She stopped next to his chair.

“Go home, Coulson,” she said, her voice soft.

“He’ll need someone here when he wakes up,” Phil said, knowing that he would.

“If he wakes up,” she said. “He stopped breathing without the tube on the first day, but there’s no guarantee he’ll even open his eyes again. We don’t know what sort of brain damage will have taken place over seventy years. He might be a super-powered vegetable for the rest of his life.”

“He’s fine,” Phil murmured. “He’s going to want someone here when he wakes up. He’s going to be disoriented and confused.”

“We’re taking care of that,” she said, and her tone, that secretive note she got in her voice when it was something outside his jurisdiction, made him scowl. “We’ll handle it. Go home, Coulson. That’s an order.”

Phil sighed out through his nose, looking down at Steve, pale but _alive_. The idea made his nerve endings sing, like he was constantly being touched with a live wire. He swallowed and nodded, turning to Maria.

“I want to know when things change,” he said.

“That’s not up to you,” she said, and that was that. He frowned, but he turned on his heel and exited the hospital room, leaving the sleeping Steve to SHIELD.

* * *

Phil could hear the shouting over the comms as Fury mustered the medics to his position. He tried to open his mouth to tell him not to bother. He knew a mortal wound when he felt one. All he could see was the hard, grim line of Marcus’s mouth, because in that moment, the years peeled away and he remembered the young man who became his spotter in Grenada, the man stiff and rigid as he barked into his comm.

Phil opened his mouth, and Nick turned, kneeling by his side.

“I need you to stay awake,” he said, and Phil gave a small smile.

“Sorry, boss. I’m clocking out. Tell them I’m sorry. They needed something to give them a push…”

“No, fuck that. You stay awake,” Fury tapped his cheek and Phil snorted awake, his breathing gaining a watery, sucking noise with the hole in his chest. “I need my one good eye.”

“Tell Steve I’m sorry,” Phil said. “For everything.”

The room pitched and yawed, even as he saw realization dawn. At least Steve might know. If Nick told him.

Phil didn’t know if he would or not, however. Soon enough, the thought faded from his mind, along with everything else as darkness rushed up to meet him. He greeted it like an old friend, a smile on his face.

_I love you, Steve._

* * *

Steve was anxious. He hadn’t felt this way since he was a child, left alone with the doctor for the first time while his mother waited outside. He could still remember how his heart fluttered. Not because of any soul mate, but because of cardiac arrhythmia.

Now, however, Steve could feel it creeping up on him, chasing him like the sound of gunshots followed him in his sleep, the smell of snow and smoke stuffed in his nostrils no matter where he was.

He was sweating, and he stumbled into his bathroom to wash his face.

He felt…incomplete. Something was missing. He missed someone terribly.

It dawned on him, then. Phil Coulson had just been pronounced dead. Three days since Manhattan, and Steve hadn’t had time for a breath, much less mourning. He sank onto the edge of the tub and put his head in his hands.

He could have been nicer. He could have treated Coulson with the same respect he’d been treated with. Steve frowned at himself. He knew how it went. No one remained long on the front lines without figuring out if you were Bonded or not. Steve rubbed his face, ignoring the creeping sense of loneliness.

He looked up, and noted his pale, sweaty face.

Something was wrong. There was a hole in his chest, one he didn’t quite know how to fill. He breathed deep, and since he wasn’t going to be sleeping, he picked up his gym bag and his keys.

He’d gone without sleep before. It was nothing new. The feeling, however, wouldn’t leave him, no matter how many hanging bag chains he broke. The only good thing about it was the memories didn’t surge back as strong as they had before. Feeling this anxiety, while he was unable to place his finger on the source, kept them at bay.

Steve frowned, pummeling a bag into powder, reaching for another as he tried to figure out exactly what had happened. His medallion sat in his dresser at home, and he hadn’t worn it since the crash. A crack in the quartz crystal had left it unreliable.

And who would want him? He was incomplete. He was half a man and he couldn’t even fill this hole in his chest. His fist met the bag and it hit the wall this time, leaving a  crack in the plaster and sending sand everywhere.

He stood, breathing like a horse run too far, too fast, his sides heaving and his eyes rolling wild. Slowly, he came back to himself, the aching hole in his life smoothed over with a patina of duty and ritual. He calmed himself and closed his eyes before he let out a shuddering breath. He grabbed control of himself, swept up the remains of the bag, and hung another.

This too, would pass. He would get over it, or he would learn how to deal with it.

* * *

Phil’s first sight after the helicarrier was a relieved Nick Fury. Having known Nick for as long as he had, he knew the signs were harder to read for other people. Still, the glaring was disconcerting after a moment and he shifted, trying to move in his befuddled state. His chest and ribs felt stiff, and a sharp pain flashed through him when he tried to move.

“Don’t.” Nick’s voice was stern. “The last thing I need is you tearing open your god damned stitches on my watch. Just nod yes or no, don’t try to strain yourself by talking. Are you in pain?”

Phil nodded.

“You remember what happened?”

Another nod.

“Do you feel like an idiot?”

He shook his head.

“You should.”

Phil glared at him. Nick just held a cup of water to his lips, and Phil realized how thirsty he was. Little sips tried to become longer swallows, but Nick wouldn’t let him overdo it. At last, he sat back with a small sigh.

“You know we’re the only ones who know you’re alive?” he asked.

Phil stared at him. Nick shrugged.

“You’ve been under three months. Not like I can tell them now. We didn’t even know you’d wake up.”

Phil thought that maybe that was a disservice to the Avengers, at the very least. He reached a hand for Nick and Nick crooked a brow at him.

“What, you want visitors?”

Phil shook his head in slow uncertainty, but then changed his mind, nodding.

“Who, Sitwell?”

Phil shook his head. While Jasper was his friend, he wasn’t the one probably feeling the pain of separation. He raised one finger, and then swallowed.

“Steve,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“You want me to bring in Captain Goddamn America to visit at your bedside?” Nick asked, incredulous. “Your cards are gone, you should know.”

Phil shrugged. He could live without the cards. While it was a pinch to his wallet, he just wanted to see Steve with his own eyes. He’d feel better. Steve would likely feel better too, if the remembered heat of his medallion had meant what he thought it did.

“Jesus Christ,” Nick said, rubbing his face. “PJ, if you weren’t my best fucking friend I’d beat your ass for making me lift these restrictions. I suppose I’m going to have to tell them all, then.”

Phil nodded.

“Motherfucker.” Nick rose, his trenchcoat flapping around his ankles. “I hate you, PJ, you should know that.”

Phil shrugged, wincing as his bandages pulled.

“You have to do something for me, too,” Nick said. “Stay in fucking bed, listen to the fucking nurse. You need to recover.”

Phil thought about it for a moment, and then nodded, leaning back in the pillows.

“Fine,” Nick said. “I’ll break the news to the goddamn Avengers.”

* * *

Steve sat with his hands folded in his lap, looking at Phil. He didn’t know why he was here, other than Agent Coulson had asked to see him. Something warm roiled in his chest, and he felt that familiar sadness creeping in, threatening to overwhelm him again. He looked down at his knuckles, keeping his hands in place. He hadn’t forgotten how Agent Coulson had shied from his touch earlier.

He’d only meant to comfort a man he thought was dead.

Still, the agent had been in high spirits, and he’d smiled so hard when Steve came in, he thought his heart would crack in two. Something about Phil was timeless. Steve had at first thought it was the suit. The cut was a classic one, and Phil wore it well, catching Steve’s eye even aboard the Quinjet.

Phil made Steve feel…less lonely. While he knew that wasn’t the right word for it, it was the closest he could come up with on short notice. Something about the agent in the bed made Steve feel like a piece of him had fallen into place. He smiled at Phil, and was gratified when the agent smiled back.

He leaned forward, his hands on his knees.

“I’m real glad you’re okay, Agent Coulson.” Steve looked him over, watching the paleness of Phil’s skin meld with the sheet on the hospital bed. Something protective surged in him and Steve knew that the agent was a part of his team. He had found another that he wouldn’t trade, and he took him under his wing. Perhaps a little gentler than others, but the agent had given his all to make sure they succeeded. Steve couldn’t fault him that.

He wasn’t distracted by the sadness he’d been feeling here. It was strange. Things seemed to make more sense when he was sitting in the room with the agent. When Fury had told him that Agent Coulson was alive, wordless relief had swept through Steve, almost making his knees buckle. He’d also been angry enough to punch the Director of SHIELD so hard he broke his nose.

…Steve wasn’t proud of that, but he’d felt justified.

Now, however, he felt just a bit too big for the room and shuffled in his seat. He knew he shouldn’t squirm, but Phil’s presence made it both easier and harder to keep still. He wanted to do so many things, like check on how Phil was doing, but he knew that Phil didn’t like to be touched.

Phil spoke, and Steve jerked himself from his thoughts to listen.

“…really appreciate you coming down, Captain. You didn’t have to,” Phil said, and Steve smiled.

“Of course I didn’t have to, I wanted to.” Everything was quiet here. His mind had stopped racing, and he could _think_. He smiled again at Phil, who seemed thrilled when he did. “You’re a part of the team.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Captain,” Phil said. “I’m just a SHIELD agent.”

“You’re not, though. You almost gave your life so that we could succeed.” Steve felt a plummeting drop in his stomach, as though he were falling off a long cliff, when he said it. He shook the sensation away, concentrating on Phil in the bed. “I don’t think anyone would object to you being an Avenger, not even Tony.”

“That’s kind of you,” Phil said, and he seemed pleased. Steve felt a rush of pleasure, almost like he was happy that Phil was happy. “However, I wouldn’t speak for Tony Stark unless you know for sure. He and I have a…history.”

“You threatened to tase him,” Steve said. Phil looked sheepish. “Knowing Tony, he might have deserved it.”

“At the time, he needed the push,” Phil said. “Still does, from time to time.”

“We all do,” Steve said. Phil nodded. “But I’m glad that your push wasn’t the more…permanent kind. Really, I am. Can…I come back?”

“You want to come back?” he asked. Steve nodded, trying not to make it too emphatic. “Sure, if you like. I’ll be here for a while.”

Steve went to touch Phil’s unwounded shoulder, but pulled back and shoved his hands into his pockets at the last second.

“All right. I’ll come and visit again,” he promised. Phil brightened. Steve’s mood, in mirror, lifted. He would have thought it strange if he wasn’t just happy to see Phil alive. He rocked from heel to toe in the doorway, feeling like a little boy. “Soon, I promise.”

He shut the door behind him and glanced through the window, watching Phil’s head roll so he was staring at the ceiling. Steve wondered, as he saw the agent smile something soft and genuine, if it was too early to come and see him again tomorrow.

* * *

“You don’t wear a medallion?” Tony asked, warming up with Steve in the gym before they sparred.

“Not anymore. It…cracked, in the crash.” Steve’s voice was soft as he wrapped his hands. “Not much good now, what with being seventy years past its prime. My soul mate probably died alone, without ever meeting me.”

That was his only regret. He’d known he’d never come back from the war. He’d signed on, hoping to make a difference, and he had, but he had no idea what he’d left behind. Someone had died alone, without him at their side. It was almost more than Steve could bear, and his blue eyes were haunted as he turned to Tony, who was giving him a strange look.

“Bet I could fix it,” he said, his own medallion looking like a piece of high tech machinery.  Steve had learned Tony’s lit up like his arc reactor whenever Pepper was around.

Steve had learned that this was where Stark Industries had made its real fortune after the weapons trade, perfecting the science behind the medallions and how they worked. Steve’s had been simple, carved into a St. Christopher medal, because his mother had always insisted that he would be a lost soul without someone to look after him. His stone, a small quartz crystal, had split in half after the crash, and while it sat on his dresser, there was no point to fixing it. He’d never find his soul mate.

At one point, he’d thought it was Peggy Carter. She’d seemed right, but when his medallion and hers remained cold and dark, they’d agreed that friendship was a better course of action rather than trying to force it. Steve still had a soft spot for her, and hoped she was doing well.

“No, Tony.” Steve shook his head. “No point.”

“Why, because you played Rip van Winkle?” Tony asked. “I call bullshit. Let me at least have a look at it.”

Steve noticed the look in Tony’s eyes. The engineer never wore that look unless he was sure he was going to have a challenge. Steve held up a hand.

“I don’t want to fight about it, Tony,” he said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Tony nodded. “All right, then.  If you think that’s the case.”

Steve wasn’t sure the argument was over.

* * *

He knew, about a week later, that it wasn’t. Tony had designed him a whole new medallion. It looked like his shield, the quartz crystal cut to match the star. Steve scowled, but the box was wrapped and on his bed when he came back from a mission.

_Spangles_ ,

_Humor me._

_\--T_

Steve slipped the chain over his neck, and a little of his tension melted away as the disk rested against his chest. Maybe Tony was right. It couldn’t hurt. His fingers brushed the chain as he slipped it inside his shirt, the metal warming to the temperature of his skin.

Maybe there was still hope. Steve shook the thought off with a snort. His soul mate was probably ninety-five, like he was. He should face the fact that he was a man out of time, and he’d never get to go back.

Still, his hand rested over the disk when he fell asleep that night, the miniature shield cupped in his palm.

* * *

Phil didn’t get a chance to see a lot of Steve, and he had a feeling it was for the best. Steve was a busy man. He was on the run, doing promotional work for the Avengers, and Phil had his own team of juniors to look after. (He was still working with Agent Ward on his sense of humor.)

Phil could tell whenever something in particular was stressing Steve out. He made it a point to visit the tower on business when that happened, ‘dropping off’ files that could have just as well been delivered by runner. He would spend a few minutes talking to Steve, and he could feel the tension melt away, leaving Steve looking more relaxed and happy.

Steve might not be his soul mate, or maybe he was, but either way, Phil didn’t like to see him stressed out. He refused to touch Steve, although Clint would walk by and clap him on the shoulder, his own medallion bouncing against his chest as he greeted Phil. He missed the hurt looks Steve gave him when this happened, but, after all, it was for the best.

What could a man like Steve want with a man like him?

He could handle the pressure of not knowing what Steve looked like just waking up, although he thought about it a lot. He could handle not being close, even though he ached. It wasn’t meant to be. How could it? How could the medallions have known, seventy-five years apart? It was a work of science fiction, and coming from a man who worked daily with superheroes, that was saying something. Phil went home, alone, at night, and slept in a quiet apartment with his hand against the mattress where someone should be.

He could handle it. He was an adult.

* * *

Steve’s head jerked up as he heard Agent Coulson enter the room. Phil was quiet, but Steve _knew_ where he was, knew the moment he stepped into the tower almost. Even before JARVIS announced his presence. He couldn’t understand it. Why did he know?

He’d heard of people Bonding and having this kind of connection, but never like this. He’d never Bonded with Agent Coulson. There was nothing that would suggest he should. Sure, Phil was handsome, and he looked sharp in his suits (and in the hospital, even recovering from a grievous wound, he’d looked good), but he wasn’t his soul mate. How could that be?

Steve’s lips thinned until they were white, and he settled himself. It was over for him. He didn’t wear the medallion Tony had given him unless he had trouble sleeping, and even then, he didn’t like to wear it too often. It was over for him, and the sooner he got that fact into his head, the better.

Except, every time Phil walked into the room, Steve’s gaze was drawn to him.

Steve looked down at his sketch book and flipped the page over, a bust of Phil’s face half-finished. The truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about Phil. But he couldn’t be Bonded with him. Surely someone like Clint was, the way Phil leaned into his touch. Or maybe an agent of SHIELD was a better fit for him. Did Agent Coulson have a wife, or a husband? A family?

Steve stilled himself when he realized he was fidgeting. He sighed, glancing up as a pair of shined leather shoes stopped in front of him. Agent Coulson smiled down at him, and Steve felt himself relax. Even if they weren’t soul mates, Phil made everything feel _right_. And that was pretty good, in Steve’s opinion.

“I just need you to sign some things, if you could, Captain,” Phil said, holding up a folder. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Steve said. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Steve noted that Agent Coulson didn’t like him to touch him. Even when handing over paperwork, Phil kept himself at a careful distance, out of reach. Steve almost felt like a leper, but he couldn’t help gravitating to the warmth he felt radiating off of Phil like a miniature sun. He always felt better for a little while after one of the agent’s visits.

“Just a few incident reports. I was in the neighborhood and I figured that I might as well take care of it.” Phil smiled, and Steve felt his own lips twitching upward. “Nothing truly important, but it’s best that they get done.”

“Of course,” Steve said. He took the reports from Phil, trying to brush their fingers together. It had almost become a challenge, touching Agent Coulson when he avoided physical contact with Steve and Steve alone. He’d seen everyone touch Phil; and while it didn’t seem to faze anyone else, it _bothered_ Steve. He was worthy of being touched, too. He wasn’t on a pedestal.

Phil avoided the deft brush of his fingers, smiling faintly. Almost like he knew what Steve was doing before he did. Steve felt the tips of his ears turn pink, and he turned his attention to the papers in his hands, unaware that he leaned toward Phil as he did. Just a change in stance, an inclination of his head, but it was there, and he looked over the reports, signing his name where Phil indicated.

Phil took the papers back, tucking them back into his folder with another agile avoidance of Steve’s hands. Steve blew out a breath as Phil made his goodbyes, watching the agent walk out the door.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Tony said, and Steve paused, looking over at him. “What, Capsicle, I’m just saying. You’re trying to burn holes in our good agent’s suit. If I were a betting man, I’d put a thou down that you were trying to set his clothes on fire. Unless Project Rebirth granted you X-ray vision, in which case, I don’t want you looking at me ever again.”

“Tony, stop,” Steve said, a scrunch forming between his brows as he made a face. “It’s not like that.”

“Well, you’d know for sure if you’d ever wear the damn medallion I made you,” Tony said.

“Tony, my soul mate is ninety years old, at least, or worse, died without ever knowing we were to be Bonded,” Steve said, his voice tight. “Please drop it.”

“I’m just saying you should keep an open mind, Capsicle.” Tony shrugged. “I’m not judging. If you like Lazarus, who says you need to be Bonded?”

“I…” Steve looked at his hands. “I don’t think he feels like that.”

“Well, I don’t think he’d have that full on nerd boner for you if he didn’t,” Tony said. “He seems like the guy to put work before business.”

Steve scowled. “That’s not the point, Tony.”

“Sure it is.” Tony slung an arm around Steve’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze. Steve felt that this was commiseration of the highest order. “Listen, even if your soul mate is long gone, does that mean you have to spend the rest of your life alone?”

“I guess not,” Steve said, although his voice was full of doubt. “But what about Phil, doesn’t he have a say in this?”

“Cap, you’re thinking too hard about this,” Tony said. “How does Phil have a say if you don’t ask him to do the horizontal mambo? He can’t very well say yes or no unless you sack up and talk to him. So put your money where your mouth is and ask him to coffee.”

Steve scowled harder. Tony put his hands up in an ‘I give’ gesture. Still, it couldn’t hurt, right?

He tapped his phone, debating on sending him a text, and then decided that face to face was better.

* * *

“So I was wondering,” Steve said, his voice quiet as he leaned against the door of Phil’s office, poised to move away if this went to hell. “You think I can ask you something?”

“My door is always open, Captain, of course.” Phil folded his hands over his blotter, and Steve had the crazy thought that he knew what they would feel like tracing down his back. “What can I help you with?”

“I don’t even really know if you can,” Steve said, squeezing his own biceps as he folded his arms. “I was just wondering if you’d like to go get coffee with me? I mean, if people still do that nowadays.”

Phil went very still, and Steve wondered if he’d offended as he watched the color drain from his face.

“I…don’t think that’s a good idea, Captain,” Phil said. He blinked slowly, and Steve wondered if that stony expression had always been there. He could feel the disappointment well up in him, feeling almost twofold because Phil was right there in front of him, frowning. “We do work together, after all, and I would hate to be accused of fraternization.”

“You don’t think I can separate work and pleasure?” Steve asked, backing toward the door. This was a bad idea and he’d known it. Hell, the other man didn’t even like to _touch_ him. How was he supposed to tell him that he looked sharp in his suits but he thought a lot about taking them off him? About kissing him?

“I have no doubt that you can, Captain Rogers. I still feel that it’s inadvisable.” Phil unfolded his hands, and Steve ached to take one, to make him see. Unfortunately, feelings didn’t work that way and Steve knew it. He sighed, and nodded.

“I understand. Thanks for not laughing me out of your office,” Steve said. “I can accept that someone’s not interested.”

Phil frowned harder. “I think remaining professional is the best idea, Captain. I am flattered, but…it’s not a good idea.”

“Just…stop. I get it.” Steve’s jaw jumped, and he swallowed. “Thanks for your time.”

He shut the door behind him and let out a breath. Well, Tony was right, it had been worth a shot. And he’d been shot down.

He knew better now. Steve tightened himself up, sank behind his best blank face, and strode down the hall back to the tower.

* * *

Phil put his head into his hands, feeling the despair well up. He swallowed it back. He could handle this.

It was for the best, after all.

* * *

Phil went into cover as the gunman opened fire again. Technically, he wasn’t on full duty yet, as he hadn’t healed. He winced as his back hit the rough brick dividing wall, the twinge bothering him as he reached for his sidearm.

“Drop your weapon, please,” he called, remaining in cover. A bullet whizzed by his ear and he sighed. “I’m asking nicely. You don’t want me to come around the corner.”

The Maggia were a group of thugs, most small time, but word was Madame Masque was back in town, and Phil had been caught in the crossfire. The Avengers would be there soon, but for now, it was him and a group of police fending off common street thugs issued high-powered rifles.

He sighed, wincing as his chest twinged. Steve was getting closer. He could feel it. From how fast it was coming up, he was hitching a ride on Stark’s suit. He popped up out of cover and squeezed off three shots, covering for the red, white and blue blur that cracked down in the middle of the street between the police barricade and the mob.

“Good to see you could make it,” he called, glancing up and watching Iron Man rocket off to pin down the other pocket of Maggia down the block.

“Wouldn’t miss a party,” Steve said with a grunt, blocking the next couple of shots with the shield. “You okay?”

“Just fine.” Phil heard Clint’s arrow go off, the explosion tearing up the city street, but knocking a group of them off balance for Natasha to capture. He poked his head over  the wall and watched Steve dispose of his gunmen neatly. Phil tossed him a packet of zipties and confiscated their weapons. “Nice hardware. I’d like to know who supplied them. Hammer tech?”

“Wouldn’t put it past that asshole,” Tony muttered over the comm. Phil glanced up and saw him flying recon overhead. “You got a metal stamp inside the clip?”

Phil ejected a clip. “Looks like a warhammer.”

“Then Hammer Industries needs to be paid a visit after this, for funding domestic terrorism,” Tony said, his voice tight. “I’d like to punch Justin in the face this morning anyway. I _hate_ that guy.”

“We know,” Steve said. He and Phil jogged down the street to where Thor had rounded up the rest. Phil tied them up and looked around. “Something wrong?”

“Feels like there should be more to this than there is,” Phil said. “High powered rifles aren’t enough to stop the likes of the Avengers, and not a reason to Assemble. Fury put out the call, didn’t he?”

“I thought so,” Steve said, turning. He surveyed the area, and Phil let his gaze linger on the Captain behind his sunglasses. Thor landed, his cape fluttering about him. “Did your communicator card go off?”

“Aye, t’was Fury’s work, I think,” Thor said, his eyes steely as he looked around.

“Any sign of Madame Masque?” Phil asked.

“None,” Natasha said. “Not even anything Hand related, and that’s strange, because where there’s the Maggia, the Hand’s not far behind. You know how Masque and Elektra hate each other.”

Phil rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking.

“Thor, eyes on high, let’s see what we can see,” Steve said, and Thor nodded, swinging his hammer and taking off. Tony rocketed by, scanning the area. “Agent Coulson, I’d like you to get in touch with SHIELD for me, see if Fury sounded that alarm.”

Phil pulled out his phone, nodding. “I’ll send for a truck to come and pick up the garbage, too. You see Masque, try to contain her, the wardens on the Raft have missed her.”

“You’ve got it,” Steve said, jogging down the street to rendezvous with Natasha and Clint, who had their heads together and were talking intently.

Phil sighed and clicked his phone off, tucking it back in his pocket. Fury had sounded the alarm based on Phil’s position; he’d been right in hitting the silent distress signal on his watch when he’d taken cover. Trucks were on their way to pick up the captured thugs, and Phil holstered his sidearm at last.

“Phil, hit the deck!” Clint shouted, and the twang of the bowstring was lost in the crack of a rifle. Pain bloomed on Phil’s side, and he watched the gunman fall, an arrow in his neck as the ground rushed up to catch him. Phil’s phone clattered away, and Natasha was at his side.

“Looks like you caught it on your ribs, творец,” she said, her voice tight. “Medical is on its way. Don’t move.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Phil said, relaxing against the ground. Natasha stemmed the flow of blood as best she could, her green eyes snapping up and looking at something. Phil followed her gaze, trying to see, and was met with the sight of Steve, white as a sheet and shaking. “Captain, go and see to securing the area for medical. I don’t want my medics getting pot shots thrown their way, their lives are hard enough with me around.”

Steve stiffened, then nodded, circling the block like a scalded cat.

“You should tell him,” she said.

“He wouldn’t want me,” Phil said, smiling soft as he felt her fingers press into his side. “An old, washed up SHIELD agent. Can’t even complete a simple lock down without getting shot.”

“A man worthy of respect and affection, творец. There is a difference.” Natasha’s voice was cool, but understanding shone in her green eyes. “I think, after today, he will suspect something. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. If you have not Bonded, you should.”

“Natasha,” Phil said, sobering. “Please.”

“Rest assured, I will not tell him. But you should, and I know you are aware of what the right thing to do should be, and it’s not this.” She moved away as the medical team approached and Steve hovered. “I will distract him. For now.”

He closed his eyes as her tone made him aware of exactly how much an idiot she thought he was. He smiled, however, as he heard her walk over to where Steve was standing, her heels clicking in a deliberate attempt to draw attention to herself. She began speaking to him in Russian, and Steve’s attention drew away from Phil as he tried to keep up with what she was saying. He responded in kind, and she smiled, putting her hand on his arm.

Phil knew Steve was in good hands, even as the medics lifted him onto the stretcher and carted him away.

* * *

It was his fault.

Steve paced the waiting room floor, heedless of Clint and Natasha watching him. It was his fault Phil was in intensive care. He’d walked away. He’d left Phil at the gunman’s mercy because he’d thought they’d gotten them all.

His mistake had almost gotten Phil killed.

_Again_ , a little voice in his head spoke, and he remembered the acerbic, skinny kid he’d been. _You almost got him killed again. Because your head isn’t on right. You’re not in the game. Come on, Rogers, get it together._

Clint crossed his legs at the ankle, watching Steve pace.

“I don’t think SHIELD’ll pay for you wearing holes in the linoleum,” Clint said. “You need to siddown and relax.”

“Relax?” Steve almost snapped it. “Agent Coulson’s been shot, and you want me to _relax_?”

“Look.” Clint sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You’re not helping him get through surgery any faster.”

Steve sighed and sank down onto the chair next to Clint, his knees bumping together as he crammed himself into the too-small chair.

“You here for Coulson?” the doctor asked, and Steve’s head snapped up. “Looks like you are. You can see him now. Just for an hour or so. He’s just coming off the anesthesia, so he might be a little loopy. He’ll be happy to see you, I’m sure. He doesn’t get visitors often, just these two.”

“He doesn’t have anyone?” Steve asked.

“Just us,” Clint replied. “Tash and I are gonna grab a coffee. We’ll meet you in there.”

Steve glanced at Natasha, who nodded. He took a deep breath, and turned to move to the door, when she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Take this with you,” she said, her voice quiet. He felt the slender slink of the chain in his palm, and almost dropped the new medallion Tony had made for him.

“Natasha…” he said, but she didn’t even have the good grace to look ashamed of herself. “You went through my things?”

"I didn’t have to. You’re predictable enough that I know where you would keep such baubles.” Natasha folded his fingers over his medallion. “Please, do this for him. So that you will understand.”

He eyed the medallion as if it were a snake that would bite him. He watched her as he draped the chain around his neck and tucked it into his shirt, letting it warm to the temperature of his skin.

“Only because you asked me to,” he said. “It’s not going to make a difference.”

“Perhaps it doesn’t have to,” Natasha said, her voice soft. “Perhaps all you have to do is believe.”

He sighed, ruffling his hair. “I don’t have a soul mate. They died.”

Natasha shrugged one shoulder, her smile gone cryptic. “Perhaps.”

Steve turned and headed into the hospital room, still feeling the panic skittering through his chest as he laid eyes on the man in the bed with the white linen bandages wrapped around his torso.

Blue eyes flickered as he looked over the prone agent. Phil was still drowsing, his chin tucked to his chest, and Steve looked over him, his hands resting on the guard rail.

He let his eyes wander over Phil’s profile, getting lost in the ridge of Phil’s nose, his fingers itching to touch the curve of the bridge. He swallowed hard, and realized he felt warmer than normal. His chest felt like a miniature sun, and he put his hand to the medallion, blazing hot underneath his shirt.

His eyes widened. He understood. Or...he thought he did. He cupped the medallion, dropping it when Phil’s eyes fluttered.

“Captain,” Phil said. Steve slumped, settling a chair next to Phil’s bedside. “What brings you here?”

“You.” Steve’s answer was short and to the point. He settled into the chair, leaning against the bed. “I’ve spent months trying to figure you out. You puzzle me, Agent Coulson.”

“Me?” Phil asked, his brows raising. Steve could almost feel the confusion in blue grey eyes.

“Why won’t you let me touch you?” Steve blurted, the medallion beaming warm against his chest and giving him strength. “Why won’t you let me touch you when you _know_ that’s all I’ve ached to do for months?”

Phil gaped at him. Steve almost exulted in catching him off guard, wanting to crow with laughter. He could feel how warm he was when Phil was around. He turned to him like a sunflower in the morning, his face up and basking in the man’s attention.

“I never wore my medallion. It cracked in the crash. I didn’t trust it. Why did I need it? No one wanted an old, broken soldier. I thought my soul mate was dead,” Steve said, the sorrow sinking into his voice. “And then I met you, and I didn’t feel so lonely anymore. You’re the only thing about the future that makes sense. You’ve touched me before. I just don’t know when. Probably when I was sleeping.”

“While you were unconscious, from the ice,” Phil murmured.

“So...why can’t I touch you, Phil? Do you...not want me?” Steve’s eyes dropped, his courage gone. He was brave because he had to be in combat, but here, he stood with his hands on the guard rail and stared at his fingers. “Because when I’m with you, I feel like I’m home.”

Phil lifted his hand, and placed it over Steve’s own.

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” Phil said. “You can feel how much I do. But...why would you want me? How would your medallion know?”

“I waited for you my whole life,” Steve said, his voice soft as he turned his hand over, amazed at how they fit together, their fingers flowing like water.

He laced his with Phil’s and Steve felt everything ratcheting into place. Everything that was spiraling out of control tightened down with his soul mate’s hand in his.

“How did it know?” Phil asked.

“I don’t know,” Steve said, leaning closer. Phil turned his head, anticipating him, and their lips met, brushing into something sweet and tender. “Does it matter, so long as we found each other? I thought my soul mate was dead.”

“Technically, I was dead on the table for forty sec--” Phil was cut off by a longer, more lingering kiss from Steve. He melted against him, and Steve took the opportunity to explore his mate a little, Phil a good, no-nonsense kisser. Steve pulled back and licked his lips.

“You’re coming home with me,” Steve said.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Phil asked, smiling.

“After that stunt? No. No, you don’t.” Steve returned the smile and settled next to the bed, Phil’s hand in his own. “Please?”

“...all right,” Phil said. “We’ll go home together.”

Steve kissed him again, the flicker of surprise and then elation he got from Phil was enough to make his toes curl. He had found home.

* * *

Phil was awake when Natasha dropped by the hospital room. He held a finger to his lips and pointed to Steve, who had fallen asleep with his head on his arms. Natasha watched Phil’s hand drop back to the soft blond hair, and she smiled, knowing that Steve had found who he needed at last. She crept away, not even bothering to open the door.

Steve turned in his sleep, tucking his nose more into Phil’s hip. Phil rubbed his neck and drifted too, his medallion warming in the presence of his Bonded.

Debriefing could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Guh. This took way too long. Then again, I've got a sixty hour work week under my belt. So that's where I've been. Thanks for all who've left me reviews and comments in the meantime!
> 
> This has been brewing for a while.
> 
> \-- Lywinis


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